Simple Admiration
by Tales.of.the.Darke
Summary: Katsushiro is beginning to question his dedication to the village,finding his stability in the mysterious Kyuzo when the older samurai begins to train the boy behind Kambei's back. Is it just another ploy or does Kyuzo really care? KatsuKyuzo. Finished.
1. Draw your Sword

Disclaimer: Per usual I can hardly hope to own any of the characters. What I do with them, however, is my own choice.

It was all simple admiration right?

Katsushiro shook his head madly to dispel his lingering doubts, sniffing disapprovingly at the dusty late autumn air. He merely admired the dark samurai, longing for the artistic grace that those svelte wrists displayed. The sheer prowess! It was like raw power that coursed through the spindly limbs.

With a disappointed sigh, he searched his own calloused fingers for even the slightest hint of what they could possibly become. His hands, slender and almost feminine, could never become those blood spattered hands. They still knew the silks and smooth porcelain he had tried in vain to escape. Just as his lips knew sweet tea and his stomach understood delicate foods.

"I'm just not cut out for this," he grumbled, hardly realizing just where his feet were taking him.

He was still shaky, his muscles weak and his head a bit dizzy even after all this time. A day after the battle and he still couldn't calm down! It pained him honestly to watch the others mingle and drift about in apparent ease while he stood looking over the deep ravine, trembling as if mildly feverish.

Was battle truly that frightening to him? He had hoped his teammates' presence might take the blunt shock of the blood and death, but obviously that hope had come and gone like so many others.

They had stepped aside and let it wash over him in a rush of heat and sightless rage that drove his body utterly mad; and they had watched with cold eyes. Katsushiro supposed it was good for him in a way. It was a lesson to teach the merchant's boy what real life outside the sheltered walls of gold and trade was really like.

If they even knew that is.

He groaned and weakly fell back against the trunk of the ancient trees that grew up the hill from the village. Of course they did! They had to. . . what else would a eighteen year old boy be doing, roaming the streets blindly with a pressed uniform and a shiny new sword? The only thing that could complete the set was his idiotically noble and naive intentions.

Maybe he should just run away before he was slain. Dying had never quite fit into his plans when he snuck away from his ruined family or even when he offered his services to the pretty water priestess on the city streets. It was a coward's way out and against the very rulebook he had nailed his soul to, but right now pure survival was hammering a rhythm at the back of his head, demanding to be heard. That instinct, damn it to the fires of battle, had been increasing in volume since that fit of rage on the Nobesari vessel.

He hardly realized he had started walking aimlessly again, weaving in a drunken haze of confusion through the massive trees that cast fairy lights in the air around him as the sun began its sleepy descent over the mountains. It lit his deep green mane, glittering off the silver in his hair, the narrow crown that sat on the peak of his skull.

If only he could be like Kyuzo. What a warrior! He was so fearless and brave, yet cautious. The man was so graceful! He was more an artist than a fighter, light-footed and quick. The boy sighed reverently then glanced down to his own frame, hidden beneath the baggy pants and loose jacket. His small moment of elation came crashing down dismally.

He was hiding in his own clothes. It wasn't that he had undesirable weight or any extra baggage at all for that matter, not like most merchants. No, Katsushiro was ashamed more of his skin than his lean muscle and flat stomach. Just like the skin hidden beneath the gloves, his chest and stomach were pale and smooth from childhood years of oil baths and left completely unscarred from soft shirts and safety.

He wanted to be beaten and battered, to look rough around the edges and have that icy gleam in his eyes. . . like Kyuzo.

His feet shuffled noisily through the undergrowth, kicking aside the stray twigs that lay in his path. His glazed eyes remained focuses elsewhere, far beyond the figure that was leaning elegantly at the base of the tree he was headed for.

Well, until he stepped firmly on the twig.

The sharp noise not only came as a jolt to his numbed senses, but so did the glinting point of the sword that rested firmly between his eyes. Even then, it took Katsushiro only seconds to realize who it belonged to.

His mouth opened and he babbled something to the samurai seated below him. His words did not mesh or flow in his jumbled thoughts, merely sound to his conscious. Honestly, he hoped he hadn't said anything too strange or embarrassing.

Truthfully what the young swordsman was staring at were Kyuzo's twin pupils, both sharp and frigid as the depths of winter. They betrayed nothing, whether he felt annoyance or anger for this unorthodox and sudden disturbance.

Three thoughts hit him at once, locking his jaw and his limbs for the briefest of moments while his already taxed mental state tried to unravel the conflicting messages. Part of him desperately wanted to angrily snap at the man for drawing a weapon on someone who was so obviously an ally. Another part wanted to slink away, pleading forgiveness. And still a third voice demanded that he sit down next to the samurai and talk to him. Just talk so he could be heard.

He opted to run. With a hurried apology, Katsushiro began to back away, eventually turning on his heel to sprint back down to the village and hide in the wooden hut. Or at least that's what he intended to do.

A blur of crimson halted his progress within ten paces and he once again found himself at sword point. "Draw," the rich voice hummed.

"W-what?" the boy stammered, hands out before him in a subconscious gesture of peace, one very submissive and meek. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to-"

"Draw," Kyuzo growled again, reaching back to take his second blade. "Your sword. Draw."

"I can't fight you!" he gasped. "I just-" Again he was cut off, this time by the sweet whistle as the sword knifed through the air towards his ribs. The young samurai yelped and closed his eyes, waiting for the cold steel to carve into his flesh. All he felt was his jacket fall loose, the secure weight around his hips vanishing. Cracking an eye, he realized his belt and the strap over his shoulder had been cleanly severed in one cut, dropping his sword to the ground with a clatter.

"Draw."

Katsushiro stared in dismay at the motionless man, reluctantly kneeling to take up his blade and draw it achingly slowly from its cherry wood sheath. The older warrior hardly waited for the tip to slide loose when he lunged forwards. The boy gasped and thrust his blade outward to intercept the charge, twisting it in his hand to spin Kyuzo's sideways. But the target vanished, leaving him to stagger forward against the unexpected empty air he had been bracing for. The fabric tore so cleanly, the boy didn't even notice his jacket was cut again until his left sleeve fluttered down his arm to drift to the ground.

"Open your eyes."

Katsushiro tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. _When you take a life, you never look your opponent in the eyes, do you?_ Apparently Heihachi was not the only one to notice.

"Look at me."

He whirled around, letting out a frustrated yell as he swung down, aiming for the man's shoulder. This time Kyuzo did not move, just blocked the sloppy chop, locking the swords at their hilts. His eyes glittered coldly, his lips caught in that eternal frown of disapproval.

The younger samurai tugged at his blade desperately, lashing out at his opponent's knee with a sweeping kick. It was blocked with an interesting sidestep that caught the slender ankle between the man's knees in one of the slits in his coat. The blonde's eyes narrowed further and he jerked their weapons sideways, snapping Katsushiro's right arm out wide, leaving him open and unbalanced. In an instant he flipped his sword around to slam the hilt into the boy's ribs.

"You can do better."

The already wide green eyes widened further at the words, even as the young man tumbled back onto the ground wheezing for breath. Better? How could he possibly fare better against such a skilled warrior? _I'm not cut out for this._

He struggled back to his feet, leaning back against one of the hefty oak trunks to catch his breath. Calmly, Kyuzo offered forth the sword that he had stolen, waiting until the trembling fingers closed on the hilt before he attacked again, streaks of silver flashing before the young man's face and ruffling his hair with the breeze.

Katsushiro promptly dropped his blade to cling to the rough bark, grinding his teeth as he heard small metallic chimes. Easing his eyes open again, he watched as all his little silver buttons roll away into the undergrowth, his jacket falling open to reveal the thin, white undershirt.

"Katsushiro," the blond said sharply, his commanding voice firmly holding the boy's attention. The second sword swept around, cleaving through the remnants of his jacket so they fell to the ground. Kyuzo stood straight, raising his swords out beside his body in an offering pose, taking a few steps back. 'Come and get me' it said.

The rage was back, starting at the back of his neck and his cheeks and racing down his spine. He could literally feel his blood boiling beneath the surface. His eyes changed, narrowing and earning that blood lusting shine. His fingers found his small blade again, gripping it until his knuckles turned white and his fingers began to tingle. With an animalistic snarl, the young man lunged forwards, stabbing and slashing in a mad frenzy at the man in the red jacket who merely smiled, taunting him to new heights of fury.

"Better. Not good enough." Kyuzo was easily able to deflect most of the hits, but a few made it close enough to force him back a step here or there. It was nothing really to worry about. In his anger, the boy merely became a little more unpredictable, his movements harder to read and follow. It was not a safe combat style, but it was an improvement over what he had before.

Satisfied enough for the moment, the blond went on the attack, stabbing between the wide and unprofessional swings, leaving small tears along the outer thighs of the young samurai's pants. With an elegant twist, he slid his sword cleanly along the boy's arm, cutting one of the gloves off.

In response, Katsushiro merely growled and raised his sword above his head. Mistake. In a split second he was forced back against the tree, the hilt of Kyuzo's first blade pressed firmly against his wrists and pinning them there, leaving his stomach and ribs wide open and defenseless.

Still lost to his inner berserker, he struggled madly, kicking at the samurai every time he tried to move closer. Finally tiring of the game, the blond boredly shredded the front of the starched white undershirt, leaving the poor boy topless in the cold of the coming night. Still that did not wake him. When he kicked out yet again, Kyuzo finally slapped him across the face with the flat of his blade.

Katsushiro gasped, the mad haze leaving his eyes and his chest heaving as he fought to calm himself. "K-Kyuzo, w-what-"

The samurai waved him silent, stalking forwards to pull his blade from the tree, freeing the boy's wrists. As he gracefully flipped it over to slide it into its sheath, he rumbled, "Lesson one: humility."

The second blade was also slid tightly into its scabbard with another breathy murmur. "Lesson two: self doubt."

With that Kyuzo stalked away back towards the village, leaving Katsushiro sprawled out on the ground with the remnants of his clothes. The boy stared up at the glittering night sky, his eyes narrowed a he mouthed the words 'humility' and 'self doubt' over and over again.

"I understand Kyuzo," he whispered, pausing before adding, "Master."


	2. Green Haired Pawn

The stars tonight were quite beautiful.

Being young and always in a hurry to do. . . well whatever it was he was doing at the time, the young samurai had never paused to actually look at the evening sky. Now, lying mindlessly on the ground oblivious to the coming night and cold, he watched. He watched the stars blossom from the black velvet, watched the moon increase in intensity as the sun fled.

He wasn't how long he had been there, sprawled across the ground on top of his clothes. It finally hit him when his teeth started chattering that perhaps he should go home and seek out thread and needle to repair what Kyuzo's sword had broken. With a groan and the creak of cold stiffened muscles, the young man hauled himself to his feet and gathered up the scraps of cloth.

Exhausted Katsushiro made his way back to the village. His feet dragged along the ground, kicking up a few pebbles that crashed noisily down the steep hill. Even as the forest grounds evened out and the firelight began to flicker through the branches, he stumbled, limping from the various cuts he had just recently discovered along the outside of his leg that burned horribly when the cold stung at them.

He understood the basic principle of study and grueling practice under a master, he wasn't _tha_t ignorant, but what Kyuzo did just seemed a bit too enthusiastic. Then again, knowing what he knew about the man, hurting other people was just what he did. Katsushiro should be thankful he didn't do more.

He ran his fingers over his bare chest, marveling at how the man managed to get his shirt off without even scratching him. That said. . . He sighed and reached down to gingerly touch the scratches along his legs, letting out a mournful sigh for the state of his pants. They were loose enough that it wouldn't be that noticeable, but still.

As he neared the village he softened his footfalls and started creeping around the light, keeping in the shadows. He didn't want any awkward questions concerning his appearance from any of the samurai or the villagers, especially that nosy girl. Okara, was that her name?

Katsushiro shrugged it off and slipped into the shared samurai's hut through the side window, thankful the others weren't in. Now that he thought about it, it did seem foolish of him not to have brought a spare set of clothes, but seeing how nobody else did either, he quickly pushed the thought aside and drew a needle and thread from his pouch.

His delicate fingers eased the thread into the eye and knotted the end of the cord. With swift strokes, he settled on a zigzag stitch, deftly working his way up the jacket sleeve, tugging the threads taut.

It was a good hour later, still sitting in only his pants, when he finally held up the jacket, now in one piece. Someone would have to look pretty close to notice all the hurried stitches too. Feeling rather pleased with himself, he set it down and reached for his undershirt, freezing as he finally noted the black boots that stood just beyond the archway of the door.

"How long have you been there?" Katsushiro said sourly, rubbing at his sore eyes.

"Not long." Kyuzo's soft voice cut through the distant noise of the village, seeming to dampen all other sounds. "You sew well. Merchant's skill?"

"Didn't take you long to figure that out." The boy's tone was still defensive, but not hostile; more cautious than angry. "It was something my mother insisted on. I suspect it's because she had a son instead of the daughter she wanted. Father didn't care; father didn't even notice he had a child."

"Where is she now?" The low words were short and clipped like the rest of his speech. Regardless, Katsushiro had never heard him talk this much before.

"Nowhere. She's in a hole in the ground." The words were poisonous and bitter, and he nearly jammed the needle into the tip of his finger.

"Don't talk if you don't want to."

"I'm a samurai now, I'm not from there anymore," the young samurai insisted, despite Kyuzo's words. "It's not our past that makes us, but our potential to be something more!" Violently, he jerked on the needle, snapped the thread cleanly. "I'll prove them wrong, I swear I will, especially _him_."

"Kambei," the older man said with a nod. "You want him to teach you."

"But he will not. He told me I was the fifth samurai, so it's his excuse not to even speak with or even advise me on anything." He was trying to rethread the needle, his trembling fingers jabbing and consequently missing.

The slender hands reached across, calloused fingers taking both from him. Without even looking away from Katsushuiro's face, the blond threaded the needle and politely handed it back to him.

With a gasp, the boy averted his eyes and buried himself in his sewing again.

As he shyly glanced out the corner of his eye, he could have sworn he saw Kyuzo's lips turn up at the corners in a mischievous smile. It was a smirk and one that made him shiver out of both fear and excitement at once. "You're mine now," he said, standing and turning to leave.

"Wait," he blurted, dropping the shirt to catch the hem of the crimson coat. He didn't dare look up into those eyes, keeping his own focused firmly on his own hand. Now that he had the man's attention, he wasn't sure what to do with it. After an agonizing few seconds that seemed to last an eternity, the young man lick his dry lips and almost whispered. "Why did you cut my shirt off?"

"Because I wanted to see if you were an overfed merchant's boy."

Katsushiro gasped indignantly and promptly released the coat to stare challengingly into the flames that lit those dark eyes. H-he wanted to see if he was fat?! Is that what he just said? There were a thousand things he wanted to snarl back at the moment.

'You didn't have to take my shirt off for that!'

'What a lie!'

'There are easier ways to undress me, don't you think?'

'I'm. . . n-not really _that_ fat am I?'

None of them seemed right, so he simply stared upward, his fists balled.

Kyuzo chuckled darkly and turned his back on the fuming boy, his boots clicking menacingly on the wooden floor, a blatant rebellion to the fact he really should have taken them off at the door. "I was pleasantly surprised."

"You were what?" the young samurai stammered, blinking as he watched the other disappear outside into the night no doubt to join the others as they ate with Kirara and the rest of the villagers. _Pleasantly surprised. . ._

What did that mean?

Unconsciously he ran his fingers over the muscles on his lean belly. Yes, he had definitely lost what little baby fat he had been carrying when he left his family, a few months on the street would do that, but his skin was still far too soft for the likes of a hardened warrior. How did Kyuzo's or Kambei's feel? Leathery and rough from the constant scrape of cotton on skin, from enduring the rain and the sun, and from the sting of the desert sands?

Shaking himself, he frowned and picked up the shirt, the thread, and the needle again. Kirara might wonder where he is, but the others wouldn't. He was positive the others didn't care for him in the least. He was a mistake of Kambei's that they should have left in the city, a drag and a burden. Gorobei's eyes had said that much after his episode on the bandit's vessel. Heihachi's words had said that. They all pitied him. All except Kyuzo.

Even then he had his doubts.

Why would Kyuzo want to help him? Romantically he had hoped that maybe the experienced samurai found some traces in Katsushiro that he remembered from his days as a boy or maybe he even saw potential in him, but reality told him that was most definitely not the case. Well at any rate, he was getting some training and he was not about to complain. Whatever the mysterious samurai's reasons, they weren't any of his business or concern.

Nodding to himself, he tugged the final stitch shut and secured it, tugging the shirt back over his head and searching around for the slashed glove. Yes, he didn't need to be in everybody's business so let Kyuzo teach him for whatever reason he saw fit to.

xxxx

"Katsushiro, we missed you at dinner." The words in and of themselves could have been warm and concerned, but coming from Kambei's mouth, they were just flat and emotionless, mildly curious without a hint of real care.

"I wasn't feeling well," the young man said calmly in return, pulling his blankets over his shoulder and turning his back on his Sensei.

It was a blatant lie, they both knew it. Though he did not show it, something clicked in Kambei, a sudden desire to _know_. He wanted to know what the boy had been doing, why Kyuzo had been mysteriously smirking at him through dinner. The stare had been challenging. 'Your move' those eyes said.

So he watched, staying thoughtful and quiet as the others prepared for bed and one by one drifted off to sleep. His eyes remained focused on Katsushiro's back, watching the young man's ribs lightly rise and fall until they settled into a deeper rhythm that suggested sleep.

Stealthily, the samurai crept closer, reaching for the jacket which had been carefully folded beside the boy's pillow.

_What are you hiding from me Katsushiro?_

There was definitely something new here. He could feel the creases along the front and shoulders that suggested stitching and rather new stitching at that. It wasn't the handiwork he marveled at as he ran his rough finger pads over the soft fabric, it was the precise angles of the cuts that crisscrossed the jacket. There was only one man he knew to have that kind of skill and that kind of dementia.

His voice came out in a low growl as he set the uniform coat back down. His shoulders tensed and he glowered backwards at the unusually still shoulders of the man who slept apart from the others on the other side of the room.

He was awake, he was aware of Kambei's investigations.

He was baiting him with his own student.

"Kyuzo."

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Author's Notes: Alright, to address a few comments and ask a few questions.

Kyuzo is how it is spelled on the official site and from the character list on the DVDs, so I'm going with that spelling. I understand how many versions are out there right now, but this is the one I'm using. Bear with me.

Now onto a few requests I've had that I think the others who read this should have input into:

"Make it just a close sort of friendship" vs. "Make it hardcore yaoi (hugging, kissing, ect.)"

"Keep the rating T" vs. "Make the rating R and give us some naughtiness!" (On this one, I've never written anything above Teen before, but I'm having so many people ask for something naughty I thought I'd put this up as a choice)

"Triangle with Kambei/ Kyuzo or Kambei/ Katsu (the Master/ student hasn't been done yet to my knowledge)" vs "Just leave it hard Kyu/Katsu"

Other than that, any suggestions you readers may have? Want the plot to lean a certain way? I'm not picky, I put this out because there's not that much Fanfiction out and because my friend requested a Katsu/Kyuzo.

Please Review and tell me what you think!


	3. Between a Rock and a Hard Place

"I'm getting tired of eating mud," the boy grumbled, picking himself back up again and trying to scrape off as much of the sticky mess as he could. It soaked into his stonewashed cloak and stained the knees of his pants. Worst of all, he was scraping skin off his elbows every time he hit the gravel, jacket sleeves or no.

Figures this would be his job, running back and forth to every outpost to gather information. Everyone else got to fight, even Kikuchiyo got to lead his own small army of archers. Every one except him. Here he was just running around, ducking swords and dodging bullets to tell Kambei they were using bombs. As if the continual thunderous roars and sharp cracks hadn't told him that much already.

The mounted soldier wheeled his mount around, the tortoise scraping its large feet in preparation for another charge. Torn between completing his duty and running or staying to slay this rather determined enemy, Katsushiro hesitated and nearly earned himself a face plant again.

Stumbling sideways and sucking his stomach in to avoid the glittering tip of the sword, the young samurai scrabbled for his own blade. His mud coated fingers were gritty and slid along the cherry wood handle, nearly dropping it as he yanked it clear of its sheath. Still he recovered quick enough the slap the animal on the rear and crack part of it shell. Skipping about in agony, the beast unseated its rider and limped off between the trees, whining.

The downed shinobi flailed about in the thick mud and clawed madly about for some sort of hand hold to get him up quick enough. He didn't stand a chance. Katsushiro's sword punched through the neck armor, cutting the machine's head off with a clean swipe.

With a sigh, he spat into the waterlogged dirt that sucked at his boots and winced again at the nasty taste in his mouth. A kill was a kill, but he wished they didn't have to be rendered helpless before he could kill them.

Another explosion rocked the ground, sending the already lightheaded samurai reeling. No time for self pity, he had a job to do, thankless or not. Kicking to free his feet, he skipped off again, sprinting towards the center of the village where Kambei waited, no doubt still hunched over his map.

As he entered the open clearing, wading through the thick field of amber rice, he saw Kyuzo out of the corner of his eye. The scarlet clad shadow darted in and out of the deeper grains, vanishing and reappearing in a dizzying blur. Katsushiro paused to watch in pure awe as he charged the giant Nobuseri, cleanly severing its most vital pieces and sending the beast tumbling to the ground.

His hands trembled on the hilt of his blade and a chill ran down his spine. Excitedly, he made his own way across the field. All he was doing was asking Kyuzo how things were going at his post. It was the job Kambei had given him right? Smiling impishly, the young samurai charged out into the clearing where the man stoically over the smoking machinery.

"Kyuzo that was amazing!" he panted, sheathing his sword and hurriedly wiping his hands on the cleaner parts of his jacket.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm to run between the posts and collect information. I wanted to ask you how-" The crimson samurai moved in a blur, swinging his right arm around to slap Katsushiro hard across the mouth with the flat of his blade and cut his words sharply off.

Tears stinging at the corners of his eyes, the boy lurched backwards with his hand over his mouth and his legs trembling something horrible. He tasted blood and he could feel it, hot and sticky, between his fingers. Hurt and confused he stared balefully back up at the man who bore down on him, catching him by the collar.

The older man did not shake him and lift him, though, as the he thought he would. No, Kyuzo shook his head and his eyes flashed. "You can do better. Draw. Join the fight."

Slowly, the young samurai dropped his hands from his lips and nodded affirmatively. With a quick salute, he drew his sword again and charged off in the direction of the village, his heart pounding and his chest warm. He could do better! Kyuzo did see potential in him! Despite the blood, he grinned and let out a small laugh. Let anyone challenge him now. Bring on the entire army! He could take them.

Brushing his blond hair back in the face of the wind, Kyuzo did pause to watch him leave. Outwardly, his lips twitched only slightly upwards in that unnerving smirk of a grin. All he needed to be told was that he had potential, that he was a samurai. The more he fed the young man, the more fiercely loyal he became. It was all too easy. Katsushiro made an excellent pawn and Kambei just hated, absolutely loathed, to lose control of anything that loyal to him.

Still, as he turned back his eyes lingered briefly on the smear of blood across his sword, bright and still warm even in the chilly, damp air. The grin faded as he stared at it. Quickly, the man tugged his sleeve up over his hand and self consciously wiped it off. Biting his lip, he turned back and stared off in that direction again though the boy had long sprinted out of sight.

xxxxx

"He's awfully late reporting back this time. Do you think he got himself hurt?" Shichiroji murmured softly as he stood over his long time friend.

"Knowing Katsushiro." Kambei did not continue, just marked another symbol in red. The already damp pages caused it to bleed down and onto one of the crop fields. It was obvious from the tone what he meant.

"Should I go look for him?" The blond's voice was layered with concern and he lifted his head again, eyes straining as he searched the horizon.

"Katsushiro needs to learn, Shichiroji, that life is not handed to you on a platter." His hands pressed just a little too hard on the map as he applied yet another symbol in the upper margins and consequently he stabbed a hole through the parchment.

The motion did not go unnoticed, but it did pass unmentioned.

It was nearly an hour later when the small figure reappeared. When he was close enough to see, Kambei noted his hood had enough of a tear in it that the boy had simply pushed it back over his shoulders and let the rain soak him. His green hair was coming loose from its binding and the tiny silver crown was just slightly askew. His jacket was soaked with mud and oil and his pupils were dilated again.

"Sensei," he rasped, still panting from either his run or the battle rush or possibly both. Blood was drying on his lips and it stained his teeth red, dripping as he leaned over to catch his breath.

"You are very late reporting back," the older man responded coolly.

"I ran into trouble."

The tone was just a tad more defiant than he cared for and his hand tightened on his sword. "Ran into trouble, or went looking for it?" Without giving the young samurai chance to answer he redirected. "Where's Kyuzo?"

"Kyuzo is at his post, Sensei," he breathed, eyes narrowing. "As are all the others. We're about to be attacked, I suggest you prepare for it."

The silver eyes widened then narrowed sharply, his brows furrowing as he stared at the insolent whelp in outrage. "You're not the Katsushiro I know," Kambei said softly. "And I liked him much better."

As the two stared each other down, Shichiroji sensed the mounting tension and nervously stepped between them, clapping his companion on the shoulder with one hand and squeezing Katsushiro's arm tightly and warningly with the other. "If he is correct, then we do need to prepare."

"Do not trust in him, Katsushiro. He is not looking out for your welfare, I can promise you that." As he turned to leave, the young man balled his fists and strained violently against the metal arm holding his own.

"And you do? He's the only one here who has even bothered to help me. If I shouldn't trust anyone, it's you Sensei!"

With a heavy sigh, Kambei closed his eyes. "You'll learn soon enough."

Feeling betrayed, he angrily threw Shichiroji off him and stalked away. Or he started to at least when Kyuzo reentered the village square with Heihachi on his heels. Both looked unharmed for the moment, but behind the mechanic stumbled half a dozen battered villagers that were all leaning on each other.

All five samurai paused to look between each other, the later two sending questioning looks out as they took in what had obviously been a conflict among the group. The crimson samurai need only look into Katsushiro's emerald eyes to understand what had passed between the boy and his Sensei.

Convincing himself that it was all part of the game, he took a deliberate and protective step in front of him before he addressed his rival. "Three ranks of mounted soldiers headed here from the south wall."

Kambei noted the move and stared unflinchingly into Kyuzo's eyes. "Then gather the others. We retreat back here to prepare for the final stand."

As he turned away to speak with Heihachi, the blond pulled Katsushiro to him by the shoulder and murmured in his ear. "Go rinse your mouth out."

"Yes Master," he whispered back, bowing and quickly heading to one of the empty huts. Master? Sensei? Two very heavy titles to two now bitter rivals. The young man sighed and fished around for a bowl. He wasn't completely oblivious to the rising tension between Kambei and his new master and he knew Kyuzo was using him to heat it up. Still he knew there was another feeling there, he could see it in the man's eyes.

"I'm not just a pawn," he whispered before tipping the bowl of rainwater into his mouth and gingerly swishing it about. When the stinging grew too intense, he spat it back and watched the blood drift inside the porcelain.

He hoped he was right. Maybe he was just seeing things he was desperately hoping were there instead of things that actually were.

"I'm not just a pawn," he chanted again, wiping his lips on his sleeve, the blood blending into the red fabric. He glanced back up into the mirror, blinking as his disheveled self greeted him.

Sad and embarrassing though it was, Katsushiro could honestly never remember a time he had been untidy. Even on the city streets his hair had always been neatly combed and as clean as he could possibly keep it. Now, here he was, as messy and unkempt as could be.

With a sigh that was both melancholy and exasperated, he reached back to pull his hair loose from the silvery clip, letting the damp strings tumble down onto the back of his neck. They felt stick and icy cold as they stuck to his shoulders and dripped down his nape. The dark green was dulled with dirt and greasy with oil, turned more of a grayish brown now even with the rain pounding down on his head.

Even with that uncomfortable thought, there was a smile. He resembled a war battered samurai now. He _looked_ like he'd been in a fight. With a rebellious 'hmph' he threw down the clip and let his hair flow loose down his back.

Feeling refreshed he hurried back outside and into a torrent of rain. The cool shower rinsed the dirt from his face and flattened his hair to his neck, but he could hardly see a few feet in front of his face. He was not the only one with that issue obviously for Heihachi was not but a few feet away hiding under an overhang with his goggles down. With a small wave, he beckoned Katsushiro over.

"Well at least we know the bandits with just as handicapped as we are," he jovially with one of his trademark laughs.

"Have you seen Sensei or Kuyzo?" he said quickly.

"You still focused on those two? Just leave them alone for right now. It's not exactly healthy for you to be involved in that." His tone turned suddenly serious and he lifted up his goggles to make eye contact. "I say this as a friend, Katsushiro. Playing between a hurricane and a tornado is not safe and I'm afraid those two will tear you apart without even meaning to."

"Eloquent. I'll keep that in mind." He crept to the edge of the house and peered around the wall. He was met with solid white mist at every turn and enough rain to flood the entire village.

"Each to his own, but I'd do more than brush that off," the red head said sharply. "That's the last I'll say of it." With that he pulled his goggles back down and darted off through the downpour, leaving Katsushiro alone in the deafening roar of the rain, searching for someone he could not see.

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Thanks so much for the reviews I've gotten in though the opinions are just as conflicting as the choices I gave. Still, never worry, I'll try and tailor the story to fit most's expectations. I was going to try and keep it fairly on tack with the episodes, but from here on I'm deviating into my own plot line and settings, so be warned.

So keep the reviews coming, I always love to hear from people and I'll try and update as much as possible.

I have a few tests and essays coming up, so progress may not be as speedy as it has been, but I will try and move it along.

Thanks again!


	4. Unconditional Duet

The emerald eyes strained against the white fog, his entire body tensed and listening for something, anything in the smothering silence. Just as he was about to give up he caught a metallic creak and echoed sharply up the narrow space to his right. It wasn't his companions, but it was an enemy. It was something he could kill.

As stealthily as he could, Katsushiro drew his sword, grinding his teeth as the blade sang, vibrating in the damp air. The Nobusari shifted, though whether reacting to him or just trying to find its way in the thick soup of mist he did not know. He would not give up this chance! He needed to prove himself, to dispel the doubt that weighted so heavily on his shoulders.

Inhaling slowly and deeply, he shifted his feet in the loose mud and charged out. The boy kept his steps shuffling across the ground to prevent any wet smack from alerting his enemy and pulled his sword back, tensing his arms for the swing. He came up on the machine a lot sooner than he intended and nearly crashed into the spindly leg; but he caught himself in time and swung the blade before him so he could pass through the metal unscathed.

It parted easily beneath his quivering sword and he ran on, intending to sever the second. Obviously he was not the only one with this goal in mind. Midway through his sprint he slammed into someone else, jamming his nose into a narrow chest and locking swords at an awkward angle far above his head. The other grunted and shuffled backwards, kneeing him in the upper thigh to force him away.

Rubbing his nose gingerly with his left hand, he lowered his blade, blinking at the crimson jacket that had materialized suddenly out of the dense fog. Kyuzo stared at him blankly for only a second before reaching out, grabbing his arm, and swinging him backwards. With a cry of complaint, Katsushiro went sprawling and rolled himself into a ball to perform a graceful tumble, albeit one through the water drenched mud.

It was only seconds later he realized the man had just saved his life. The body of the machine made a hollow thud as it plummeted, promptly exploding on impact and showering the huddled samurai with smoldering debris. "Kyuzo!" he rasped.

It was silent again and the mist had closed back around him again, shielding the fires from view. Or perhaps they had been snuffed out by the frigid air. Sword out in front of him, Katsushiro felt his way forward and paused as his toe kicked the bandit's battered hand. "Kyuzo?" Had he made it? Surely he was far too skilled to let the machine crush him. But why wouldn't he answer then?

If it was even possible, the rain increased, hammering into the warm earth and summoning a devious vapor that groped at his ankles and knees. Still no sign. His green hair pressed against his neck, slithering around to cling to his trembling lip and jaw.

He couldn't hear a thing. Heihachi and Shichiroji never stayed this quiet. His first thought nearly sent him to his knees with an ice chilled gut, but he recovered quick enough to talk some sense into himself. They weren't dead. As much as he hated to credit his Sensei with anything at this moment, Kambei wouldn't be defeated by a mere fog. He was better than that and so was the rest of the team. More than likely, he had only gotten himself lost, wandering farther in this cursed miasma that he had first thought.

But where had Kyuzo gone? Here was the bandit's body so. . ?

His teeth started chattering, the young man sheathing his sword to pull his sodden jacket tighter around him. This rain was so very cold, as well it should be on the verge of winter. Still, that knowledge didn't make things any easier or his skin any warmer. He needed shelter and he needed it soon before he got hypothermia out here. He was sure he at least was guaranteed a bad cold.

The whirring clicks of mechanical legs filled his senses and with a weary groan he pulled his sword out again. "How many of you are there?" he spat through his teeth, blinking away the river of rain that sheeted off his eyelashes.

It was only one scout, struggling its own way through the landscape as its mechanical eye adjusted to look for heat rather than relying on visual targets. Its eye narrowed and glowed a soothing red that, while signaling death also signaled a source of warmth. Hefting his sword, Katsushiro hurled it like a javelin into the creature's eye. It sparked once, twice, stumbled, then collapsed in a twitching heap and sent a few electric sparks up the steel blade.

Relief flooded his aching limbs as the head burst into flames that licked tentatively at the humid air. Before it could be quashed by the brutal rain, he sheltered it with his body. Quickly withdrawing his weapon and jamming it back into its cherry wood sheath, the young man huddled over the welcome fire and lifted his head again to peer through the down pour.

It seemed their enemies were having as much of a difficult time as they were else he might have been overwhelmed by now. Just how far had he wandered? He couldn't see any of the houses now, yet he apparently wasn't going north or east else he would have hit the forest by now. There was only one path clear of trees and that was the open stretch that took him to the waterfall and Heihachi's abandoned post.

Maybe if he just went back. . . Katsushiro spun and nearly let out a scream of frustration. Which way was back?! More rain pounded ruthlessly on his neck and shoulders, dripping from his small body to extinguish his tiny fire. "Kyuzo, damn you!" he snarled. "Am I the one lost or is it you?" After everything he had said to him, after everything the man had done, he couldn't just abandon his student out here. Could he?

Angrily, the young samurai kicked at a large puddle, spattering only himself with mud. Well the man would if Kambei mattered more to him, which the aging samurai evidently did. Well it seemed he was on his own for now, so he'd better start acting like an adult.

The boy had just started forward again when he heard someone's light footed and graceful footsteps behind him, darting back and forth, and they were coming his way. His sword was back in his hand and held defensively before him as he twisted to meet his attacker.

He dared not hope.

But it was. Red jacket streaming behind him and sheeting rain, Kyuzo stumbled into view and ducked the blade to grab Katsushiro's wrist. He wasn't walking properly, more a lumbering and rolling kind of step that hinted at a major injury. If he hadn't been jerked around so roughly, the boy would have asked what was wrong. But the samurai never did slow his pace, dragging his informal student doggedly behind him. It was all the young man could do to keep up and keep a hold on his sword.

"K-Kyuzo," he finally managed, panting as he increased his sprint to match his companion's speed. "What are we running from?"

"Head down," came the stoic reply.

As the words left the man's lips there was a gut wrenching crack unnervingly close behind them that sent a surge of heat up the boy's spine and through his belly. The larger hand crushed down on his damp hair, forcing him off his feet and into the mud. . . again. Even as the slimy, clammy substance pressed against his lips and his narrow chin, Katsushiro heard the whistle of the shrapnel and felt the blistering heat as it rocketed mere inches over his head.

Kyuzo was lying on top of him. Whether he had intended to protect the boy or he merely fell on him, it hardly mattered. Panic flooded the young man's thoughts first, fear for the samurai who was more exposed to the explosive debris, but the man's chest was rising and falling rapidly against his shoulder, his pants loud and breathy against his ears. Not dead then.

"Stay."

Katsushiro didn't need to be told again. He froze, hardly breathing, and pressed himself further into the ravenous mud. There was silence for a good long while broken only by a distant roar that came from somewhere off to his right. The waterfall?

Dimly, the boy became aware of the sticky warmth that was dripping against the back of his knee, hot in the icy rain. Blood! Kyuzo was bleeding. Struggling to sit up, he picked his head and shook slightly to get his hair out of his face. "You're hurt!"

"Quiet." Though still softly spoken, these words had a sense of urgency to them he had never heard before. Also a commanding tone that had him obediently burying his face in the muck again. His hair streamed over his shoulder, absorbing clumps of sludge and smearing them across his neck and cheeks. His stomach was growing more and more damp by the minute. He was sure even his undershirt was stained permanently brown by now.

Still neither moved. As he strained, pushing all his senses to the max, he picked it up, the gentle humming of machinery that wound a path around them, doubling back several times to walk a criss cross pattern. A search pattern. "We'll have to move," he breathed.

"Not yet."

"Where will we go?" Katsushiro pressed.

"Over the falls."

Shifting onto his side to both face his companion and take the pressure off his ribs and lungs, he shook his head. "But why not back to the village?"

"Because we cannot."

"But-"

"Over the falls," Kyuzo said firmly.

"They'll be waiting for us!"

The dark eyes narrowed so sharply that the young man instinctively cowered, waiting for the punishing blow to fall. It did not.

"Over the falls. On my command."

"Can't we move now? He's not that close," he pleaded, growing tired of being buried in the sticky slime.

"There are four of them."

Defeated, the younger samurai flopped back down in the mud to wait, trying to ignore the trickle of blood that stained the back of his pant leg.

The slender fingers tightened almost painfully on his shoulders and Kyuzo lurched to his feet, taking Katsushiro with him. "Now! For the falls." With fingers firmly grasping a handful of the red coat, the boy charged forwards in the direction of the constant roaring noise. Behind them, all four Nobusari turned about to give chase. Their guns sparked and thundered, the bullets spraying the ground on the samurais' heels. Almost there!

His lungs were burning and his chest ached, demanding oxygen. Katsushiro ignored the plea and continued on, pushing his legs into a faster flight as the deep trenches of mud shallowed out into smooth boulder rock. "What now?" he cried, hesitating at the lip of the falls.

At his ear he could actually feel Kyuzo inhale and open his mouth to bark an order. He felt the warm puff of breath over his nape as the first syllable left the man's lips.

And then his entire world was engulfed in flame and noise. The stone at his feet crumbled and rolled forwards to plummet into the abyss that hung below him. Everything moved in slow motion. Desperately he back pedaled, quick enough to find solid footing and regain his balance. As he stepped away, he saw Kyuzo's injured leg buckle, pitching him forwards instead of backwards as he should be going. The man's eyes widened and his arms flailed backwards, searching for anything to stop in inevitable.

Without thinking, Katsushiro dived forward to catch his comrade's wrist. As Kyuzo's body twisted in midair, there was a hard jerk on his shoulder when the man's weight caught him and tore him from his perch. Down they fell with rock and dust and dirt. The wind whistled by his face, colder than any drop of rain that day and the rocky outcroppings of the falls lunged upward to meet them.

Their fingers, slick from blood, sweat, water, and grime, slipped and slid agonizingly slowly apart. Screaming something that was snatched away by the winds, Katsushiro closed his eyes as he fell free and tumbled away, his world fading away into a void of cold and utter black.

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Gasp! Evil cliffhanger!

Well fourth chapter up, written in two late night hours when I suffered my weekly bout of insomnia. Hey, if I was to work on anything, why not this?

So tell me what you think, I love to hear from my readers even if it is just a "Hey. Cool." Never underestimate the power of ego boosts on the progress of a story.

Again, thanks for reading this schlock and I'll update again as soon as I can.


	5. Like Blood on Water

Reality came back in a hazy blur of sickness and spotted lights and a mixture of gentle background noise. Swallowing the salty syrup that clung to the back of his throat, Katsushiro cracked his eyes slightly and blinked as a narrow beam of light struck his aching pupils. Dimly he was aware of an intense pressure on his right hip and several lumps of something damp and cold weighing his legs down. His left arm was pinned beneath his own body, but the right was free.

Trying to regain his bearings, he rubbed gingerly at his face, yelping as his fingers brushed his nose. They came aware bright with blood and quite a bit of it. Grunting, he tilted his head sideways to spit. Sure enough there was blood in his mouth as well, draining from his broken nose. No wonder he felt so ill.

Once his attention wandered from that unpleasant surprise, he took note of his surroundings, staring dismally at the stones piled cairn-like above his head, torso, and hips. Where was he? What the hell happened? His head was pounding and his thoughts were as hard to hold as smoke.

Someone was shifting rock near them, tossing it carefully but almost urgently away as whoever it was searched for something. Or someone.

It finally clicked, flooding his battered head in a rush of adrenaline fueled emotions and color. Kyuzo and the falls, they had fallen off! Their hands had slipped and he fell, hit something and everything went black. "Kyuzo," he sputtered, his words dissolving into a fit of coughs as he thrust his arm up through a narrow hole between the stones. Blood spattered fingers trembled as they groped at the chilly air.

The noise stopped and all fell silent for a moment before the samurai nimbly stepped over the loose boulders to reach for the small hand. He gave the fingers a reassuring squeeze before kneeling to haul the first stone off.

Katsushiro waited patiently and withdrew his hand as he was slowly but surely freed from his rocky prison. Small pebbles and dust rained down on his face, nearly drawing a sneeze from him, but he quickly clamped his hands over his mouth and held his breath, dreading the prospect of such an action through his broken nose. More and more light fell over him and he realized the rain had stopped. The clouds, however, remained and filtered the sunlight through a bluish silver veil.

Kyuzo's face loomed closer as he stepped inside the hold to help his companion out. "You alright?"

"I don't know," the young man responded breathily, feeling lightheaded and weak. He sat up, groaning as all his weight seemed to center on his nose and pull his head forward. Trying to ignore that and the blood oozing over his lips, he flexed his fingers and arms, testing all his upper joints before he tried to stand. His left leg worked perfectly fine, sore but it worked. His right leg, however, didn't respond at all. It lay there, limp and pathetic in the soil.

He didn't have to say a word. Kyuzo immediately knelt to inspect the limb, running his hands from the ankle all the way up to his knee, too polite to go any farther without permission. "The entire leg?"

"Y-yes, I can't even move my hip," the frightened boy stammered, clenching and unclenching his fingers on his pant leg.

"Lay back on your side." The blond knelt to take his ankle, patiently waiting as Katsushiro resituated himself. Pressing his chest into the soft dirt and keeping his hips balanced and parallel to the ground, the young man waiting to see what in the world the samurai was doing.

Kyuzo raised his unresponsive leg perpendicular to his body and pressed down. There was a loud crunch and the joint slid back into place, reconnecting with a wave of hot fire and prickling needles. The boy gasped sharply and dug his fingernails into the loose soil as he rode it out, screwing his eyes tightly shut. As the red behind his eyes faded he became aware of the fact that his entire body was trembling madly, especially his leg.

Still, the older samurai didn't say anything of it, waiting patiently for him to recover. "Flex your ankle." Katsushiro obeyed, bending to joint back and forth, then spinning it and pointing his toes. Hands sliding lower, the man had him test his knee than the hip joint. Swinging his leg in an arch, he brought it down then pulled it up as high as he could, which surprisingly was not just above his hips but came within a couple feet of touching his head.

"You're very limber," Kyuzo remarked.

"I like to think so," Katsushiro sighed, pulling himself up and cautiously testing his weight on his leg. "How do you think I take so many tumbles and still come back intact?" His tone was inwardly bitter and more than a little defeated. Here he was, all bloodied and broken and disconnected and all in all just battered; and per usual Kyuzo had escaped the fall practically unscathed. Angrily he pulled at the stringy hair that clung to his cheeks and neck, regretting leaving his silver hair clip behind. He knew there was a reason he kept it pulled up.

"You did well not to die," the voice behind him said softly. They both glanced upward, miles and miles upward and even then the top of the falls was not in sight.

"Actually, how did we survive that?" he responded, wiping the back of his hand across his lips to clear the fresh blood.

"Because we're samurai."

Katsushiro didn't respond to the words, but he visibly relaxed and a smile played about his lips for the moment. _He was a samurai._ With a sad sort of smile, he turned back to his silent companion. "Is this what you had in mind when you said 'over the fa-" He choked and bent over to cough, clamping his hand over his mouth as more sticky blood coated his fingers.

Kyuzo took his shoulder and pushed him in the direction of the river. "Go rinse your mouth out."

"Yes Master," he sighed.

"Just Kyuzo."

He lifted his head, blinking curiously. "Huh?"

"Just use my name."

"Yes, Kyuzo," the young man corrected, bowing his head before limping his way back to the river.

The water was soothing and cold as snowmelt. It relieved the intense burning and rinsed the dried blood from his nose. He stayed with his palms in the water and sinking into the cool mineral laden mud, his knees balanced on the stones on the river bank and his face held in the icy water. Every so often he would surface for a breath before plunging his face back in again. Katsushiro drank the water, filling his mouth until his teeth ached from the cold and spitting it back out laden with fading amounts of blood.

Deciding he felt rather icky and very dirty, the young man stood and moved further towards the actual falls behind some of the tumbled stones and began to undress. Even if Kyuzo did come back to check on him, they were both male. He didn't care right now, he just felt too filthy to stand around much longer in these grime stained clothes. Tossing his jacket and pants over a boulder, he tugged his shirt open and stepped into the cascading falls.

The water was cold enough to steal his breath, but it felt so crisp and clean as it pounded away the sweat and blood. Panting, he hung his head so the water could drip in rivers over his cheeks and lips. His green grass hair flowed over his ivory skin, the colors reflected back in his gemstone eyes. Groaning, he tilted his head back into the flow and exhaled into the water. His shirt fell from his shoulders and caught at the elbows, torrents of blackened water pouring from it as it rinsed clean.

He didn't want to leave, but the feeling was fading from his skin and his lips were turning blue, so he stepped back into the chilly air and stared less than appreciatively at his rumpled clothes. There was no way he was putting those back on. With an exasperated sigh, he tugged them off their perch and dunked them in the current, scrubbing the more persistent dirt away with a rough pebble.

He was freezing and his skin was covered in goose bumps as he curled modestly up on the banks of the river, scrubbing away. His jacket and shirt were laid out to dry already, but his pants were permanently spoiled it seemed. Splotches of red and tar-like black dusted the knees and waistband. Oh well, he could get a pair of one of the villager's from Kanna. Just as he was about to stand and toss that over with the rest, a red coat was dropped around his shoulders, the tail fanning out in a massive circle around him.

With a deep blush, he closed the jacket quickly and whirled about.

"You looked cold. You could get sick." Kyuzo stood in his under suit just gazing mildly at him with those dark eyes. His leg was tightly bandaged though the wound had oozed a little and strained the gauze.

Shyly, Katsushiro pulled his arms through the sleeves and buttoned it down to his knees before returning the stare. He wanted to imagine himself looking as suave as classy as Kyuzo did in the thing, but somehow with him dragging inches along the ground, he doubted he cut a very noble image. "Thanks. Your wound, does it hurt?"

"Not anymore." Even though the man seemed to brush it off, the boy, now that he looked closer, could see everything was not fine. Kyuzo was paler than usual and his straight and stiff posture had relaxed into a weary sort of slump.

"You need food and rest," Katsushiro insisted, stumbling to his feet and nearly tripping over the hem of the coat. "And warmth."

"You worry too much."

Huffing, he flung his green hair over a narrow shoulder. "I worry exactly the right amount." The two stared each other down for several minutes before Kyuzo finally broke it off by defiantly looking away while still managing to keep his controlled and cool exterior. The other did not relent, pressing. "You saved me didn't you? That's why neither of us is dead."

The blond seemed to think on the words for a moment, struggling with something before he finally turned away and surprisingly spoke. "I tried. I managed to catch you but I slipped and you fell into the river. You washed up on shore in time for the rock slide. I was sloppy and you could have died for it."

"Why were you away from the village?" he breathed, feeling both surprised and warmed by the fact that the man was actually concerned. "In the mist, why were you so far from Sensei?"

"Because you went missing and no one could find you." Kyuzo seemed to grow uncomfortable, shifting his weight from hip to hip and not meeting the young man's eyes.

"You went out?" Katsushiro said meekly. "Looking for me?"

"I said I'd train you. I can't fulfill the promise if you're dead. I knew they would kill you if they found you," he said with a mask of disinterest before turning sharply on his heels to disengage from the increasingly uncomfortable conversation.

The boy was supposed to be a pawn. He was never meant to risk his life for the novice and he wasn't supposed to have gained concern for his well being. This was all wrong! Kyuzo didn't want to deal with the new emotions that bubbled up from the breeched walls of his old scars. He simply did not know how.

Katsushiro stared after him still clutching at the neck of the jacket for no clear reason. His breath had caught in his throat and his already weak body crumpled, sending him to his knees on the edges of the soft grass. Someone cared about him. For the first time in his life he actually had a man who would risk his life for his, who might one day see him as an equal. Sighing in relief, he pressed the bunched up sleeves to his face, inhaling deep the scent on his friend's jacket. He wasn't sure why he did it; it was more unconscious and instinctive than anything.

It smelled wonderful though, so spicy and earthy at the same time. His merchant nose could pick up the subtle hints of frankincense and trading spices that would logically have permeated the man's clothes when he lived under Ukyo and his father. His samurai nose caught the scents of wild pine and rain, the two combining in a rush that was almost feral and wild in its smell.

Laughing gently to himself, he pulled the jacket tighter and headed off in the direction Kyuzo had gone. The daylight was fading and the cold settled thick and smothering on the water, but at this point Katsushiro didn't mind. He wasn't sure hat he was feeling, whether it was a sense of euphoria or maybe even an unexplained longing.

He brushed it off with a yawn and a weary shake of his head. Whatever it was, it would have to wait. He needed rest and food enough to heal and not just him, but his companion as well if not even more than himself.

The young samurai certainly hoped Kyuzo had the good sense to get a fire going.

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The tiny beady eyes of the scout clicked, zooming in and out as they focused on the young boy who made his way across the loose stones to the mossy banks of the river. There were only two of them, however, one was a full fledged samurai that was far deadlier than the rest of the group they faced in the village.

It glanced askance to its partner for input.

"The boy is with him and he has already shown a weakness for the child," the tinny voice rumbled, the machine's tone dashed with relishes of amusement. "This Katsushiro will make an excellent shield."

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Okay, here you go, another late night insomnia post. I've never actually updated a fic so fast before, but I'm falling in love with this one.

I am having trouble keeping Kyuzo's speech pattern though. Do you know how hard it is to convey meaningful and emotional messages in short choppy sentences? Hope I didn't botch it up too bad.

Hope you enjoyed it. Again send me a tell for any requests or plot ideas or just to tell me what you think overall. I'll update again soon!

(Sorry for the double post. You know how it is, you go back and read it _after_ you post only to discover some spelling errors you missed the first three times you proofread. That's life for ya')


	6. Worthy for Once

Katsushiro lay by the low fire and stared aimlessly upward at his drying clothes which lay over a thick branch not but eight feet above his head. They still dripped water and seemed more than reluctant to shed it quickly. Not that it really mattered; Kyuzo's jacket was very warm and more than comfortable, warding away the night chill as he lay sprawled out on the moon kissed grass.

His bare legs were free, poking out through the twin slits in the front of the crimson coat. One knee was raised and that foot tucked close to his rear. The other was stretched inches from the flames to absorb their warmth. The firelight played off his pale skin, warming it with a deep honey gold that was softened by the midnight blue that was reflected back from the moon.

Finally tiring of the pain that his loose hair brought, he had tied it back with a scrap torn from his undershirt. The ponytail curled beneath his head and cradled his skull amongst the forest moss. It was so peaceful here. With a contented sigh, he reached up to trace the curve of the moon with a slender finger.

They were so far removed from the others, Kyuzo and he. What had happened up there? Had the shrapnel bombs torn the entire village apart or had Kambei succeeded in defeating them for good? Was the war still raging or had it been decided one way or the other? He just simply didn't know. He hoped that the others, if they were still alive, would at least look for them.

Even more curious was the fact that there were no bandits down here waiting for them. Wasn't this the very spot they had ambushed the farmers and the samurai had played their clever ploy? The young man glanced sideways and sighed as he viewed the empty space again.

Kyuzo just couldn't sit still. He had been in and out all night, darting here and there as he worked off his restless energy. More than likely the man was having the same thoughts and not knowing the answers was driving him mad.

Having never been in control of much of anything, Katsushiro was decidedly not tormented by this recent development. He was very troubled, but he would still be able to at least relax as he hypothesized. The older samurai on the other hand. . .

His thoughts were broken by a hushed scrape that almost escaped his attention. Almost. Jerking himself up into a sitting position, the boy bobbed his head as he swept the area. "Kyuzo?" No response. That sound, it was most definitely the scrape of metal on stone. Instinctively he reached for his scabbard, his fingers flinching away as he realized it was empty. They still hadn't managed to find his sword in the rubble. And now that his companion had left with both his swords, Katsushiro was unarmed in the face of this danger.

If it was danger. He listened with baited breath for another sign of movement. Maybe he was just tense and his imagination had started to run unchecked. Still, the young samurai stood and tensed himself in a defensive position.

"Kyuzo," he barked again, demanding and sharp. Had it been Heihachi or even Gorobei he would have been convinced that the two were testing him or trying to scare the poor boy; but not with his stoic and serious companion.

With a soft breath, he visibly relaxed and moved serenely slow to the water's edge to kneel, looking to be splashing his face in the icy river. As rhythmic as a heart beat came the dull, muffled thud of heavy metallic footsteps. The scouts skipped lightly towards the young, oblivious, and unsuspecting samurai with their swords out. There he knelt, unknowingly presenting his back. What a fool.

The machine was dismally startled when a river rock punched through part of its head, bringing it to a pitiful heap of sparking metal halfway through the camp. The other pulled up sharply and skittered sideways as another stone was heaved its direction.

Using the distraction, Katsushiro rolled forwards and nearly into the fire, scooping up a flaming log and hefting it like a club. He pursued the robot, swinging close with short sharp jabs to keep his chest protected. It ducked and darted around every last attack, it steel limbs and wires tirelessly keeping it safe as the rash young man exhausted his already tired and recovering body.

Frustrated and growing sloppy, he paused to change the pace, dropping to kick upward into the narrow waist. His foot connected and sent the machine tumbling backwards; however, he was sure he did more damage to his foot than he actually did to the Nobusari.

A sharp crack split the air and he screamed, falling hard onto his back knocking the breath from his lungs as he clutched a bloody hand to his chest. The bullet still burned in his palm, hot and unrelenting as it burrowed its way deep in his flesh. Blood poured from between his tendons and oozed down his wrist.

A third enemy, who had hung back unseen in the undergrowth, raised the gun again and trained the crosshairs on his head.

He couldn't die, not here not now and most certainly not without a fight! Grinding his teeth, Katsushiro flipped himself over and up onto his hands and knees. Tensing his legs to spring, the young man leapt over the fire and thrust his bleeding hand deep into the flames to scoop up and handful of coals. As the pain clawed its vicious way up his arm and down every inch of his body, his vision turned red again and he lost all sense of self. His feet didn't touch the ground anymore and he came out of the dive in a low roll, tossing the blazing coals into the gunman.

It flinched but did not fall or shy away. In fact, the finger tightened on the trigger.

Chest heaving, the young man's throat tightened in the realization that his legs were trapped beneath his own clumsy body. Game over.

Katsushiro whimpered, winced, and closed his eyes as the fatal sound split the air again, waiting for the blazing shell to dig itself deep inside him, but it never came. After a few seconds, he cracked an eye, gasping as he met Kyuzo's weary eyes. The man swayed slightly, his breath hitching as he found himself unable to inhale.

The scout sparked and collapsed back, as did the recovering machine behind the two. Both swords were held at a weak angle, trembling then tumbling to the ground as the samurai's fingers relaxed seemingly against his will.

The boy didn't even have time to call out his name when he collapsed forward into the narrow chest, Katsushiro's arms wrapping around his shoulders as the young man fought to support him. There was no doubt about it, Kyuzo was unconscious. The gently rising and falling chest relieved the young samurai of some fears as he crumpled beneath the dead weight. He stroked the man's back with his good hand, searching for the bullet wounds and easing him face down onto the soft grass.

Pain rocketed up his right arm at regular intervals, sending a spasm through his entire side every time. Smoke drifted from the charred flesh, but all in all, but burns weren't beyond healing. It was the bullet wound that was causing the trouble. The fingers jerked and curled inward like a spider in preparation for rigor mortis, and flexing them any further than that was agony beyond belief.

He couldn't focus on that though. Kyuzo had taken bullets, bullets meant for him, which would have killed him had the samurai not stepped in. It was all his fault. Katsushiro ground his teeth. "Why can't I be stronger like you?" he whispered. Ignoring his trembling arm, he dug his fingers into the bullet holes, drawing out the metal orbs and tossing them disgustedly away as he worked quite literally single handed to clean and stop the heavy blood flow.

He knew next to nothing of human anatomy and could only carefully monitor his fallen comrade for any outward signs of internal bleeding. With a gentle push, he propped Kyuzo up onto his side and rested the man's head on his waded up jacket and pants. Leaving him at the moment seemed like sheer insanity after that attack, but his hand was becoming far too painful to ignore any longer. Wincing, Katsushiro dragged himself to the river's edge and plunged his hand into the snow melt, crying out as his injured flesh seemed to hiss and pulse, writhing beneath the soothing cold.

Eventually it calmed into a dull throbbing that settled on the back of his mind as he dug his fingernails into the numbed flesh of his palm to extract the bullet. It was deeper than he thought, and in the end he was forced to find a spindly twig and jab it inside to force the hateful thing out the other side of his hand. Again he was panting as he jammed his hand deeper into the colder waters.

He could flex his fingers now, however stiff they seemed at the moment. "What a fool you are," he groaned as he forced his hand open again. "You idiot, why did you have to do that? There were easier things to throw." He had been seeing red and his body was moving of its own accord, not his wishes. "I'm still not under control, am I?" he chuckled wearily to his reflection. "I'm just not quite all there when I fight and here I am paying for my novice mistakes."

He stayed for a good long while longer before wrapping his hand in a water cooled bandage torn from the rest of his undershirt, what scraps were not used when bandaging Kyuzo's chest and back.

When he limped back he found that his deathly friend was not only awake, but sitting up as well and staring into the dying flames. With a sharp gasp, Katsushiro came limping over with a grim and concerned look on his face to chide the man. "Kyuzo, your hurt very bad. You passed out in my arms and-"

"You hurt your hand."

The young man jerked his palm behind him. "It doesn't matter. You took four bullets to the-"

"Let me see it."

"Not until you-" He was cut sharply off as he stared down at the tip of the man's sword. . . again. Swallowing hard, the boy knelt obediently and held out his palm. The blade was withdrawn and jammed back in its sheath as the blond leaned forward to examine it.

Katsushiro's breath caught numerous times as the deft fingers pressed beneath the half unwrapped bandages. Dimly beyond the small spasms of pain, he was aware that his cheeks were burning, though why he honestly wasn't sure.

"The damage is not bad, but don't let it get infected or you will lose the hand and then you will be useless as a samurai," Kyuzo said at length, lifting his eyes to meet his companions. The young man looked quickly to the ground, afraid to meet the man's gaze.

"What about you?" the boy managed after a long while.

"The wounds are shallow. I was just caught off guard," he said tersely.

"You passed out!" the other argued, waving his uninjured hand in protest.

"Do not argue with me."

The young man swallowed the lump of anger in his throat, grinding his teeth. "I'm not a child, you can stop addressing me like one."

Kyuzo laughed and stood, easing himself gently to his feet. "In point of fact you are a child, Katsushiro, and you get angry far too easily." Almost playfully, he rested his hand on the mess of green hair despite the fact that the boy looked ready to bite his fingers off.

It was the unexpected gesture that kept him in check. For a brief moment, his anger was smothered by an innocent sort of confusion and he ducked lower to try and escape the hand. Whatever it meant he wasn't sure, and he didn't want to exactly think about it.

The amused flicker vanished from the man's eyes and he reached inside the neck of his jumpsuit, withdrawing a hunk of wood. "I found your sword."

The brief flare of relief came crashing down as he surveyed the object carefully and found it to be a splintered piece of the cherry wood handle. The silver inlay on it had even fallen out. All that remained of the blade itself was a triangular shard that stuck out at an odd angle from one end.

"O-Oh," Katsushiro whispered, reaching forward to take it with a trembling hand. It rolled lifeless and dead into his palm and he was biting his lip to hold back tears. It was silly really to be so sentimentally attached to such a thing, but he had carried that sword since he ran away from home. For several years it was his only friend on the city streets. And now. . . He ran his finger over the shattered edges numbly.

"It can be reforged," Kyuzo said distantly as if he hadn't even noticed the young man's reaction.

"What do I do until then?" came the meek response.

He reached back to his own scabbard and withdrew one blade, flipping it over in his hand and offering it hilt first to his comrade. Katsushiro's eyes widened and he reached reverently forward to take the sword, holding it up and inspecting it. It was as light as his had been, but the blade was longer. To balance the weight, the handle was smaller, built for a one handed grip, not the double he used on his.

"T-thanks," he breathed, eyes still wide in awe. He was holding Kyuzo's sword. _Kyuzo's_ sword. In his very hand. He was being granted permission to use the sword of an experienced and noble samurai. With a sigh, he shyly lifted his eyes. "But I-"

The samurai shook his head sharply to cut off whatever nonsense he was going to try and say, holding his arm out. "I need my jacket back. Your clothes are dry."

"Oh! Yes, o-of course," the boy gasped. "Just a minute." He quickly stooped to scoop up his own jacket and pants and retreated to a more sheltered and showed area of the camp. He had just unbuttoned the top four buttons, when he turned back suddenly. Kyuzo was still watching him.

"Turn around," Katsushiro said crossly.

The samurai blinked mildly at him and tilted his head to the side, looking away.

The young man growled and sighed in exasperation. It looked like that would be as good as he got. Still he shuffled deeper into the trees and kept his back firmly to the man when he jerked his pants up.

He was just tightening his belt when he ventured back into the light with the crimson jacket held at arms length. "Thanks for letting me wear it."

There was no response, just an almost mischievous glitter in the blonde's eyes as he pulled his jacket back on. Taking his sweet time to button the coat up, he drew his second sword and adjusted the bandages on his waist. "Come on."

Katsushiro blinked. "What?"

"We're climbing back up." With that, Kyuzo strode away back along the river bank. The young man stared after him, still digesting the words.

Blankly he stared up into the mist, eyes wandering over the damp, slimy rock that stretched for miles and miles upward. "We're climbing back up? The waterfall?"

Had Kyuzo lost his mind?

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Sorry guys, life hit me so hard I swear when I hit rock bottom, rock bottom hit back. But I won't go into details.

Here it is, chapter six which I rolled out tonight just for you and I'm partway into chapter 7. Hope you enjoy and I'll get back to working on this. Sorry if there are any errors, working fast.

I love your feedback, love the reviews, anything to stroke my trembling ego right now. So, love you guys and keep reading.


	7. Acceptance

Katsushiro groaned and pressed his cheek to the rough stone, his fingers digging into the sandstone in sheer terror as he once again let his eyes wander downward to the gut wrenching plummet below. The frigid mist that spewed from the falls coated his bangs and lashes in thousands of glass beads, sapping the heat from his skin.

Grinding his front teeth into his already bloody lip, he lurched upwards again, leaving the tenuous safety of the ledge to grope for another hand hold. Kyuzo was on his heels, panting loudly as he too slid on the slime coated stones.

The young man shifted his weight so he could continue using his good hand, letting his wrist and forearm hold his weight as he leaned hard to the right. The rock beneath his foot crumbled as he yelped as his body slid several feet and nearly into the man beneath him. Kyuzo's hand shot up, resting firmly on his rear to help him regain his balance.

The squeak that left his lips then was of a completely different nature and he hung his head to hide his burning cheeks in the waves of green hair.

They had been at this for hours and hours, watching the slow progression of the sun across the cloud spattered sky as they ease their way up step by agonizing step. Katsushiro was utterly exhausted, his entire body throbbing; but there was no place to pause and rest. They had to make this climb all in one shot or they might as well throw themselves over the edge now. He uttered a half hearted chuckle. Not that they hadn't done that already.

His mind blanked again as the hand returned, this time to push him impatiently. The young man uttered a sharp noise of complaint and heaved himself up. "Stop that!" he snapped, glancing downwards to send his companion a cross look.

Kyuzo smirked at him. "Makes you move, doesn't it?"

Katsushiro angrily ignored the comment and pulled himself up another few feet, skittering sideways along the wall to dodge the more overgrown sections. "How close are we?" he yelled back over the roar of the water, all the words jammed into one breath. Why were his cheeks burning? His heart was pounding in his ears, nearly overpowering the noise of the falls, and he was sure that it wasn't only adrenaline fueled.

Instinctively he moved quicker to avoid another touch from the man below him. Those fingers were arousing feelings that he just didn't want to deal with at the moment, especially hanging from a cliff side. He closed his eyes briefly and tried to picture Kirara, but once again as before, her image was quickly replaced by Kyuzo's. He shook his head roughly and hauled his body up onto another narrow ledge, grinding his teeth as his right hand began to burn almost in complaint.

The older samurai stepped up beside him, muttering something that was lost in the uproar around them.

"What?" Katsushiro called, blinking back the mist that swarmed about his vision.

"I said we should be getting close to the lower paths!" Kyuzo yelled, raising his voice for the first time since the young man had met him. "Stay more to the right!"

"Got it!" he shouted back. Reaching upward, he caught the lip of a small hole, crawling up the mountain side again and moving farther out from the water. The roar died away into the dull hum as he moved farther and farther. It was less slick here, however there were less handholds and he had to slow significantly to make any sort of progress. Still Kyuzo remained patiently on his heels, helping him if he slipped or if he needed to stretch for a ledge that just out of reach.

Their hands were firmly clasped, the two leaning firmly away from each other to maintain balance, when Katsushiro finally reached the start of the lower paths. The rock was cut and worn smooth here. His fingers walked along the edges, straining as they reached around for a handhold of some sort.

"Stop," Kyuzo murmured, leaning forward so the boy could regain his balance. With a nimble skip, he hopped onto the same rogue tree root that stuck determinedly out of the sheer rock face. Wordlessly, he laced his fingers together and held the hands out about his waist level.

The young man nodded and stepped into the makeshift stirrup, gasping as he was launched upward and into the lip of the path. Scrabbling at the loose pebbles, he finally managed to haul himself up, with a few extra pushes from the man below, and roll onto the safety of the wide ledge.

With an exhausted and thoroughly relieved sigh, he turned back to help Kyuzo. To his surprise, the man grabbed his hand roughly and leapt gracefully up, intercepting a blade that had been whistling down to cleave at the boy's back.

Katsushiro rolled out of the way, grabbing for the sword's twin strapped to his belt. Drawing the blade, which sang as it pulsed eagerly in his hands, he backed himself up onto his feet. The ranks of the bandits were closing in around them, though most all seemed to be facing away rather than towards them. Kyuzo was already in their center, hacking and slashing in an absolutely gory elegance that the boy could not help but admire as he watched, entranced.

His fingers tightened on the unfamiliar sword in his hand. Its aura was so much darker and aristocratic than his own boyishly shy little blade. This one demanded blood and action, demanded him to move and dance as its master did. Breathlessly he obeyed; he had to. He _wanted_ to.

Silencing his instinctive yell, the same piercing cry he had sounded before in every battle he had ever fought, the samurai moved forwards, bounding like a panther. The world was no longer dyed red, he did not feel fear or rage, and his limbs were no longer separated from him. They were him. Everything seemed to slow as he arched to strike, curling his shoulders forwards like a cobra's hood. The noise died away and the landscape grew darker and almost ethereal. His eyes started to close as the glittering tip dove for the mechanic shinobi's nape.

_When you have taken a life_, y_ou never look your opponent in the eyes, do you?_

His eyes snapped open, the once warm green hard and cold as the screech of torn metal filled his ringing ears. He grunted, panting, and swung the blade around to strike another in the back, ripping him brutally in two at the waist.

The group turned about in a wild panic as they realized they were now being attacked from both sides. Many shied away from the crimson man, diving in an eager rush for the young, inexperienced boy. Kyuzo boredly swiped at their backs as they retreated, pausing to watch Katsushiro with interest.

Water filled his mind, his senses. Water flowed about his ears, his lips, his legs as he spun again, arching inwards to duck a strike aimed for his slender neck. It was cold and at the same time comforting as it held him intimately close. He didn't fight it, though every ounce of him, every small and frightened inch unsure of what was going on, begging him to flee or cower. Inhaling deeply, he slid forward and arched into it, stabbing and slashing in the under current.

He was falling, the wind whistling around him as he plummeted, helpless to save himself. With a hoarse yell, he stabbed forward and yanked the blade upward through the Nobusari's chest cavity to slash around at another attacker. Dimly he could feel the ground, the ice blue of the river, lunging forward to meet him. The noise, the yells, the cries, the rending of flesh and metal, it all blended into a mad cacophony that overwhelmed his senses. _I'm falling. _Bodies were pressing in around him; some attacking but most just trying to flee or scatter. Most were just as overwhelmed as he was.

Katsushiro yelled and began hacking madly, trying to keep the tide back. A sword pierced his slackening defenses, the tip dragging a deep line down the back. _Falling. _Blood flowed hot and sticky over the burning skin. He could not draw breath for a scream, whirling about and slamming his sword into the guilty head. Another closed in behind him and he only managed to get his elbow into the bandit's throat in time to avoid losing his head. He hit the water, stunned and breathless as he sank, unable to move. His ankle twisted sideways as he stumbled over another's body, and the boy tumbled down to be trampled.

He reached desperately forwards, closing his eyes.

Fingers, cool and light as a ghost's, slid over his knuckles and reach down to grab his wrist, jerking him back onto his feet and spinning him roughly around into a warm body. The arm around his shoulders was tight and held him firmly in place. His face was buried in soft hair, his chin resting on the curve of someone's shoulder. They moved back, his protector nimbly stepping over the carnage with his sword brandished outward.

"Stand up," Kyuzo panted in his ear.

The boy shivered as the hot breath ruffled the fine hair along his nape. His shoulders tensed as once again the screech of metal invaded his ears, but Katsushiro forced his eyes open, rolling them sideways to look past the blond curtain and out at the battle.

"I need your help."

Shakily, the young man forced his legs beneath him and locked his knees to still the trembling. "There's too many," he whispered, turning his head back into his friend's shoulder.

Instantly the arm loosened and the samurai's hand grabbed his shoulder. Katsushiro yelped as he was shoved to the ground, flinching as he met the man's smoldering eyes. "Surrender is for the weak," Kyuzo growled. "Get up and fight."

His fingers tightened on the borrowed sword and he stared out and the roiling army before them. Their attention had turned back to whatever was herding them against this solid rock wall and the drop below. They retreated, each one abandoning any hopes of victory of glory as they sought only to survive this encounter. He and Kyuzo would be driven against the stone or possibly even tossed over the ravine before any of their companions distinguished them in the maddening throng.

The hand closed again, this time on the back of his jacket, and heaved him back onto his feet. Katsushiro scooted closer to the man, his legs spread and planted firmly on the ground as they waited for the panicked rush of sweep over them.

Their stances changed quickly as a small cloud rose just over their heads. Protectively the older samurai stepped in front of the smaller, throwing his weaponless hand out as he raised his sword to deflect what came their way.

The deadly rain hammered down, throwing sparks into the air as it felled the back ranks of the retreating Nobusari. Though it took all his will power, Katsushiro did not flinch or cower as the sickening crunches filled his senses and the sparks washed over his boots. Each and every last shaft that dove for them was deflected by his ever calm companion. His eyes were focused on the remaining group that huddled near the rock wall, hoping to avoid the feathered bolts.

The instant the last one had snapped itself on the path, the boy charged forwards, leaping and darting between the heaps of bodies as he bore down on his prey. _I will not cower._ The first whirled about in surprise, hardly able to lift a hand before the steel carved through its heart. _I will not be afraid._ A broad sweep of the long sword severed two waists and caught a wrist, sending the hand spinning off over the cliff edge. _I will not be weak._ The muzzle of a long rifle glinted to his right, Katsushiro twisting his body to neatly trim the front of it off.

_For you._

The gun sparked and exploded back into its master's belly, but the bandit did not suffer long. He lashed out and neatly slit its throat. His eyes swept the area quickly, looking for something else to kill, disappointed as he only met the corpses of those who had obviously been slaughtered by someone else. Anger flared in his chest as he realized someone had just stolen his kills.

_My Master._

Movement registered in the corner of his eye as one of the bandits tried to pull himself to his feet. Two swords stabbed through his chest, tearing in two different directions and pulling his mechanical body in two. Shoving the twitching body away, he yelled as he brutally slashed at the man behind, the one to which the second sword belonged.

_My Friend._

Their blades sparked as they slid along each other, each samurai pushing as they sought blood. A foot hooked behind his ankle, catching Katsushiro off guard and flipping him over the narrow shoulders of his opponent.

_My. . ._

He hit the ground hard enough to lose what breath he had. Though his vision was spinning and doubling, he jabbed the sword up into the man's ribs, the tip pressing but not breaking the skin just over the pulsing heart.

In turn the enemy's sword was laid against his throat, heavy and very cold.

When his vision and wits cleared enough he stared up at his former Sensei, panting and gasping beneath the weight of the sword on his windpipe. Kambei had his head tilted slightly to the side, gritting his teeth as another sword drew a single a drop of blood from the hollow of his throat. Beside him crouched Kyuzo who was being held at bay by the ornate tip of his rival's scabbard which jabbed into the fleshy underside of his jaw. The man growled, fingers tightening on the blade down which that single spot of crimson trailed.

Immediately the three withdrew their weapons and an uncomfortable silence fell around them. All three sets of eyes darted between, each set of lips parting and just as quickly clamping shut again. No one knew what to say.

_Hey, you're alive! I'm so relieved._

_Is the battle over?_

_Where are the others?_

_Are you hurt?_

_What happened?_

None of it seemed appropriate for such a reunion, especially one that had left on bad terms. Instead Kambei knelt and offered his hand to the fallen boy, bowing his head to Kyuzo as he pulled Katsushiro to his feet.

Kyuzo did not return the gesture, his eyes staring incredulously at Kambei's hand, the one on the boy's, as if it were a blatant insult. The older man looked between him and the young man's wide, green eyes, then back again. His eyes roved over the empty scabbard of the older samurai's back and down to the blade in the boy's hand. Though the connection seemed simple enough, the ronin understood that it was so much more than it appeared.

Before he managed to stay anything though, Katsushiro swayed violently, reaching out to steady himself. With a silent sort of understanding, the boy was handed off to Kyuzo who held him tightly, inspecting the surprisingly deep slash between his shoulder blades. Blood soaked the black satin of his jacket, staining the back of his belt and down to the waistband of his pants. Within a matter of seconds, as predicted, his eyes rolled back and he fell unconscious. "So fragile," Kyuzo mumbled, readjusting his body. His tone was not disdainful; to the contrary, it seemed like something that should have been said with a roll of the eyes and a smile.

Without further words, he walked past Kambei it seemed with all intentions of going to care for his companion. "The battle is over," the old samurai called after him, though he suspected the man already knew.

With a chuckle he watched them leave, tucking his sword back into his belt. "This skirmish is over. . . and that boy is no longer mine to hassle with."

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Longest chapter and one more left to go. The next one will wrap this story up. Now, I have had a few people ask for an R/NC-17 chapter at the end where Katsu/Kyu get a little steamy. Considering I've never written one before, I wanted to await final judgment from my readers before I proceed into new territory. Yes? No? Give it to me now? Just let me know.

I may write a sequel or more than likely just a brand new fic, but I'm Katsu/Kyu faithful. So any requests you have just let me know.

Thanks for keeping up and reviewing.


	8. I Just Wanted a Bath

Final chapter. Warning in case you have not been reading my ending notes: this chapter, per requests, will become rather intimate, though I'm striving for a more artsy approach that is less graphic than just a plain pornography. Still, this may offend some younger and more fragile minds. Just a forewarning.

And to those who requested this, I hope you enjoy.

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A soft sigh left his lips, Katsushiro tilting his head back with a gentle groan as he dipped his aching feet in the steamy water. The thick curtain of steam closed about him, gently caressing his lean back muscles and molding itself to his spine like a lover. A ghost smile graced his lips and he closed his eyes, easing his body the rest of the way into the almost unbearably warm water.

He stood in the fairly deep bath, wading deeper into the sunken tub until the light foam lapped at the base of his back, just beneath the bandage. Playfully he ran his fingers through the scented bubbles, sketching patterns and words which he quickly erased with a swipe of the hand and a blush.

Laughing giddily, he reached back and loosed his hair. It stuck to the back of his neck with the steam, smelling faintly of rainwater and sweat. Unbothered, he merely arched back to dunk it, wincing as the water lapped at the gauze despite his efforts.

The war had been rough and Shichiroji had suggested they recuperate at the old Firefly, well those who wanted to at any rate. Kambei of course had denied the request as had most all the others. Kyuzo had been on the verge of saying no had he not a small push and pleading look from his companion. They hadn't seen much of each other since the night he patched the boy up, far too busy rebuilding and grave digging and too exhausted at night to do much more than eat and collapse.

Quickly Katsushiro shook the troubling thoughts from his head, focusing solely on rinsing his hair clean and reaching for the soaps. The feeling washed over him again, that gut wrenching terror fueled rush. Blood spattered his face and the wind tore at his hair, whistling over the blade of an outstretched sword.

Groaning, he rolled over and dunked his face in the water, relaxing as the warmth washed away the chill that had settled over his cheeks. Instead he filled his thoughts will those of Kyuzo, just holding his breath as he knelt in the soothing heat. Even though subconsciously they had assumed a relationship, the two of them had never really broached the subject. In fact in avoiding each other for the past three weeks, they had been avoiding the question.

With a sigh he pulled his head back from the water and let his hair cascade back into place. Almost in answer, a set of rough finger pads came to rest just beneath his shoulder blades, traveling up the back of his neck and curling around the front to caress the jaw bone. He suppressed a gasp, but couldn't stop the shiver that ran his spine.

"You smell like a merchant boy," came the soft growl in his ear.

"No, I smell clean," Katsushiro responded teasingly. "You should try it sometime."

In an instant he found himself several inches underwater against the bottom of the bath as Kyuzo promptly dunked him. The young man struggled, wrapping his arms about the samurai's leg and swatting at the wrist which held him prisoner beneath the bubbles. After what seemed an eternity, he was released, the fingers curling back to catch him at the nape of the neck and pull him up.

As his head broke the surface, lips parted and gasping for breath, the boy was met with the strangest sensation. Already lightheaded and flush from the steam and his almost drowning, he let out a soft mewl as lips dry and almost rough slid over his own, both giving and taking breath as they sealed his mouth almost territorially. His fists clenched, resting against the man's chest as if unsure whether to beat him off or clutch at his shoulders. Water sheeted off their skin, heavily laden with spice scented oils. The smell filled his senses, clouding his thoughts with heat and want. Desire.

_Dominate me, my warrior._

Kyuzo did not disappoint, his arms coiling around the boy's waist and hips and crushing him to the broad chest, never releasing his lips. Their teeth clacked several times as Katsushiro began attacking back with equal fervor, making up for his naivety with passion and brute force. He could swear, though their lips remained locked, the samurai chuckled deep in his throat, tilting his head to smooth out their already bruising kiss. Teeth nipped at swollen lips, fingernails dragging over oily skin as they tangled around each other just trying to get closer.

He needed to get closer. Not wanted.

_Needed._

The water seemed almost lukewarm compared to the skin of the man against him. Kyuzo's fire spread over their bellies, scorching wandering hands and stoking the boy's even higher.

They broke apart suddenly, Katsushiro visibly panting, looking more wild thing than merchant boy as he lunged for his partner with a growl. "Give," he hissed, though even he hardly knew what exactly it was he was asking for. His fingers found their way into the blond hair, stroking, tugging, clutching in a frenzied lust as their lips met again.

The man expertly flipped the boy over, lips never parting even for a moment, and pushed him roughly back against the stone sides of the bath, hands sliding down to his waist with a sense of purpose. Head reclined back against the sloped edge, the boy gasped as his lips were released, throbbing and bruised, to the cool air. "M-mh," he panted, unable to form a coherent thought much less get his mouth functioning.

Dimly he was aware that, though Kyuzo's teeth and lips were preoccupied studying every curve of his throat, the calloused hands slid down his legs, turning inward to his inner thighs. He picked up his head, fighting slightly as his legs were parted. A sense of vulnerability began to claw its way into his lust dulled senses, a basic animalistic fear for survival. The older samurai impatiently pushed him back down, reassuring him with another fiery kiss.

Apparently Kyuzo wasn't going to take no for an answer.

Their lips parted again as the blond busied himself with the tender flesh of his victim's throat and collar. The narrow hips were insistent, so Katsushiro wrapped his legs comfortably around the samurai's waist in defeat. Without a word, Kyuzo pulled back, sliding his hands down to the young man's lower back, presumably to support him.

Katsushiro started to pick his head up, curious, when the intense pressure hit. It burned sort of and his body curled inward, instinctively trying to ward off the pain. The rough fingers slid soothingly over his stomach and chest, deep voice murmuring something his fogged mind couldn't quite decipher.Gasping, he forced himself to relax back against the wall. "K-Kyu. . . zo. . ." the boy managed after a moment, quickly silenced by a finger on his lips.

"Save your energy," the man growled, the corners of his lips turning up ever so slightly in a suggestive sort of smirk. The hand slid seductively down from his ribs, lower and lower. The man's hips shifted impatiently against him, the pain blending sweetly with an unexpected jolt of pure pleasure. It hit him hard enough to steal his breath, Katsushiro gasping sharply and arching his back as he struggled to get closer.

The low growl continued as a stream of words were purred into his ear in time with each gentle rock and the young samurai was dimly aware that his own mouth was panting breathy whispers back. His entire body was trembling uncontrollably, jerking with every shockwave of ecstasy that rattled his core. His fingers clenched on the narrow shoulders of the man above him, the delicate fingernails drawing drops of blood. The base of his spine tingled and heat pooled in his belly as the already eager flames crackled higher.

The stone was hard and cool beneath his head as he weakly laid back, needy moans escaping his parted lips. His entire body was aflame, taut and tensed down to every fiber of muscle, and crying out for release. His senses were dulled to everything but the aching rapture seemingly trapped beneath his skin. Katsushiro half sobbed as he teetered on the brink, squirming and clawing at the air. "I c-can't, please!" he begged, breath hitching sharply at every word.

Firm and gentle hands forced his back down before sliding over his belly, sending sparks over his skin. "Yes. You. Can." Kyuzo growled, slamming his body against the smaller with each word.

He trembled, his entire world blazing white before it shattered. A rush of euphoric ecstasy washed over him, agonizingly blissful. It arched his back and tore a whimpering cry from his throat before passing and leaving him utterly boneless against the tile. His eyes, still blind to the world, fluttered once. Twice. Then fell shut and he spiraled off into a heavenly darkness.

Katsushiro coughed and blinked as consciousness came drifting slowly back to him in the form of a blistering hot breath against his ear and a set of teeth on the lobe. The boy gasped and shivered, opening his eyes further with a soft sigh.

His body tingled and trembled uncontrollably, a feeling far beyond that of exhaustion from any sword practice or fighting. He felt utterly drained but content about it, still warm beneath the skin and peacefully tired.

He was back in the water again, held firmly against Kyuzo's broad and damp chest. The man's heart pounded against his own, the two matching each other in tempo. Lazily, the young man yawned. How long had he been out? No more than a few seconds he hoped.

"You're awake." The words were rich in his ears, Katsushiro groaning from just the sheer sound of his voice. "I've never had anyone pass out on me before."

"Did not," he grumbled, narrowing his eyes moodily as he stared up at his partner.

"How do you feel?"

"Stiff."

The samurai seemed to deflate. His frown suggested that wasn't exactly the answer he was looking for. "Shall I try again now that you're all warmed up?"

"Again?" Katsushiro gasped. "But I-"

"Don't tell me you don't have the stamina."

As he opened his mouth to argue back there was a loud crash from downstairs as somebody tried to initiate a fight, or so it sounded like. The two looked between each other for a moment. After a pause, Kyuzo pushed him towards the edge. "Go save the place. I'll take care of you and your lip when you get back."

Blushing, the young man turned back and said rather coyly. "Why just a lip? Why not both?"

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Okay, huge delay and I'm very sorry. I kind of pushed it aside for finals and papers, but here it is in all its novice glory. Honestly, I swear a straight porno is easier to write rather than trying to keeps things discrete and artsy. Well my first sort of sex scene, hope it didn't suck and bring the series to a crashing close.

I'm working on another Kyu/Katsu since not only is it my favorite but also widely requested, so keep a weather eye out. Since I've had quite a few requests from naughtiness, the next ones may be R as well.

Well I hope you enjoyed Simple Admiration. Thanks for reading.


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